Stay With Me (2 page)

He managed to ignore me for three minutes before I heard a low, measured growl. He turned slightly in his seat, giving me more back than profile. The stress alone sent him running an unnerved hand through his black hair, messing up his low pony, and when he released his hair from the tie, I briefly wondered why we had decided messing around was such a bad idea. He kept his hair slightly long, long enough for a pony that hit mid–shoulder blade. His time in the military made him determined to never get a buzz cut again, and he was, quite simply, a hair whore.

“You should leave it down.”

“You should finish eating those Cheetos out of my cup holder before I go insane.”

I glared at the clock, stuffing more orangey goodness into my mouth.
Not
from the cup holder. This was pretty much it. Mr. Blake got off at four and home at five, like clockwork. So if Mrs. Blake wanted to get her groove on, she had a small window to get it done.

At 4:46 p.m., our patience was finally rewarded, as a woman in a blue sweat suit and a high ponytail moseyed out the door. I pressed record on my digital cam and watched her on the tiny screen as she checked the mail, threw away a few circulars, and pulled the trash can in from the curb. She waved the handful of mail at Mr. Fix-It. Then she waved the ponytailed girls in and shut the door behind them.

“Well, that was certainly worth it.” I saved my sarcastic aside for when I clicked the camera off.

Drew shrugged. “See? Looking for dirt.”

“I don’t care,” I said, annoyed. “We get paid either way. And just for the record, we still have a few more days of reconnaissance to do.”

The CLS550 hadn’t moved an inch, and suddenly I was incensed enough to do something about it. I jammed a baseball cap on my head and crammed on my aviators.

“Blake has a lot of nerve, hiring two PIs to watch this nonexistent show.”

Drew snorted. “We’re not entirely sure that’s another PI.”

“Don’t you want to know for sure?”

“We’ll run the tags,” Drew said, pressing the ignition start button. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

My right leg was already half out the door. “I have a better idea.”

“I hope that better idea doesn’t involve walking up to the car of a complete stranger,” Drew called out the window as I shut the door. “Mac—”

“Just keep the car idling, okay? Be back in five.”

He muttered something I didn’t care to catch and rolled up the window. Disapproval was written all over his face before the tinted glass sealed the interior of the car, but I couldn’t care less. After four hours of being cooped up in the front seat with Drew, it was too nice to finally stretch my legs. I meandered—not slowly enough or quickly enough to attract attention. Pearls of sweat were rolling down the back of my neck before I even reached the bogey.

I leaned over and tapped on the tinted glass. The window rolled down, and I was surprised by the clean-cut guy that eyed me suspiciously. He had a typical corporate image, even sitting in his car, suit jacket discarded and tie loosened. He was ridiculously good-looking, something I realized I had no business noticing. Black hair, thick and silky, a little overlong. Smooth, creamy skin looked as if it would be soft as butter.

I leaned back and forced myself to focus. Who cared how hot he was? He was on our turf. “Blake gets home at five, you know. No need to sit here all night.”

“Blake?” He looked at me blankly, blinking those big sky-blue eyes. Even his glasses made him look good. “Who is Blake?”

“Is that the way you’re going to play it?”

“I’m not Blake.” He started to sound annoyed. “My name is Jordan Channing, actually.”

Uh-huh. Sounded about right. Last time I checked, they weren’t giving away Benzes on the street corner. He probably had the perfect corporate Barbie girlfriend with matching accessories and a sweet Barbie Dreamhouse. Even if I was wondering where a suit like him acquired a body like that, I knew it was only the daydreams of the deluded. I could smell straight a mile away. Actually I could smell
him
a mile away, and not because his cologne was overpowering. A light whiff of something clean and refreshing, like Irish Spring or fresh soap.

“Mackenzie Williams,” I offered, without being asked.

“I’ve seen you,” he said, his eyes going squinty. “Somewhere… I’m sure of it.” Then his expression cleared. “Do you know Trevor Smith?”

I held back my groan, but barely. Would the roach never die? “Yes, I know Trevor.”

“We work at the same law firm,” he said. “I think I’ve seen you in his office a few times. I think he said you were his brother, right?”

“Maybe,” I said, noncommittal.

That hurt, but I wouldn’t let it get to me. Trevor hadn’t been the first man I’d dated who was firmly stuck in the closet, but hopefully, he would be the last. In my card catalogue, the Dewey Decimal System had placed him firmly under Ancient History.

“So if you’re not looking for Blake, who
are
you looking for?”

His expression closed, and I felt silly feeling a loss. “What makes you think I’m looking for someone? I could live in the area.”

“You could, but this car lives somewhere else,” I said. “Try again.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

He didn’t. And really, I’d gotten what I wanted. I knew he wasn’t there for Blake, and that should be enough. But my curiosity was begging me to dig, like a dog wagging its tail. If not for Blake, then why was he here? My incessant curiosity and attention to detail made me an excellent PI. It was also what was going to get me stuffed in a garbage can with duct tape around my mouth one day.

I leaned on his car. “You know, I bet one of the neighbors in the area would know who you are. Maybe I should just go door to door and ask.” I widened my eyes. “You think one of them would recognize you?”

He leaned his head back on the seat and let out a sigh. “You really are an annoying cuss, aren’t you?”

I beamed. “I haven’t been called a cuss since my days on the Ponderosa, Hoss.”

“
Bonanza
references? Really?”

The sound of a diesel engine drowned out my next
Bonanza
impression, and I watched the UPS truck pull up in front of the house two doors down. A man in brown shorts hopped down and started rooting around in the back of his truck.

I looked down at Jordan, surprised to see his face look pinched. “Get in,” he said, knuckling the door unlock button.

“Why?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“I don’t want to be seen, that’s why,” he said through gritted teeth. “Will you get in the car?”

“You’re a stranger,” I said disdainfully, doing my best Kevin McCallister impression because well, that
Home Alone
movie still rocked.

Really, I had few qualms about getting into the car with him, but my radar had always been a little off. He seemed respectable enough, and he’d certainly had plenty of time to grab me and demand what pitiful little money I had on me. He also knew Trevor (not a ringing endorsement, but whatever), and Drew was literally eight feet away. And I liked a little danger with my Cheetos.

“Can I see your ID?” I asked, and I wasn’t kidding.

“Are you serious?”

“Do you
want
to be seen?”

He huffed and stretched up, reaching in his back pocket. Within moments, I was palming his ID, noting that even
he
could look like a stoned late-night gas station clerk in a DMV photo.

“All right, you’ve seen it. Now get in!”

I took pity on him and opened the door. As I slid in, I knew Drew was probably having kittens watching this go down.

“Thank you.” Jordan sighed and looked over at me tapping on my iPhone. “What are you doing?”

“Googling you, stranger,” I said, pulling up his law firm’s website. And there he was, smiling under an associate photo under the “who we are” tab.

“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to know?” He sounded annoyed.

“This is more fun,” I said, scrolling down. “So you’re a Pisces.”

“It doesn’t say that,” he said, hitting the door lock.

Ah, vintage kidnapper’s move.
I might get to use my judo after all. Actually, it was more like high-cardio Tae Bo, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“It also says you prefer boxers over briefs.”

He looked at me for a moment before sighing. “I don’t know you, but suffice to say that sarcasm is your deal?”

I smiled a little. “You’d be right, Channing.” I hit the sleep button on my phone and turned slightly in the buttery leather seat. “So. What’s going on with either the peach house or the UPS man?”

“It’s a long story,” he said after a pause.

“Fortunately for you, I have plenty of time.”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“When I’m on my job?” I pretended to think. “Yes.”

“And what is work for you, exactly?”

“Private investigator,” I said.

His eyebrows went high. “Should I be nervous?”

“Do you have something to hide?” I bantered back and then paused, confused. What was I doing exactly? I cleared my throat. “Don’t worry. Your secrets are safe unless you hire me.”

“Are you any good?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Good enough.”

“Better than your people skills, I hope.”

“Cute. That’s a thirty percent markup for you.”

Suddenly he was very interested in the mahogany and leather steering wheel. “Maybe I do have a job for you.”

“What kind of job?” I asked curiously.

“Do you follow people? Looking for certain information?”

“I’m surprised the firm doesn’t have someone on retainer.”

“This wouldn’t be for work,” he said, tracing the silver logo with his fingers. They were long and ended in neatly trimmed, clean fingernails. “It would be… more personal.”

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

He was silent, clearly in some sort of debate with himself. Then, “How long have you been doing investigations?”

I shrugged. “Ten years or so.”

“Are you licensed?”

“Of course I’m licensed.” My response was a little terse, but I understood his caution. They were good questions to ask a PI before you allowed him to dig into your life.

“Well, what kind of things would you do in your investigation?”

“What would I be investigating?”

He let out a brief puff of air that sent his hair flying.

“Are you planning on telling me anytime soon?” I demanded.

“I think I changed my mind,” he said.

I squinted and cocked my head to one side. “Let me guess, an insurance scam. Or a lost pet. No, no, a cheating spouse.”

He gave me a level look, and the smile slipped off my face. “I’m not married” was all he said.

But a cheating girlfriend/fiancée/something, then. As if to buttress his silence, the door opened and a woman greeted the UPS man. She was pretty even from a distance, with a high ponytail and fitted yoga pants. She signed for her package and shut the door.

“Sorry,” I murmured, hating the fact that I’d destroyed our easy banter.
Well hell, he’s the one who brought up the private investigating business.

“You get a lot of those?” he asked, a self-deprecating smile on his face.

“What’s that?”

“Cheating spouses.”

“You’ve just described the majority of my day,” I said with a shrug.

He sighed and looked at me. “You feel up for coffee?”

I pointed at the Starbucks cup in his silver-rimmed cup holder, wondering how severe his brain injury was. “Are you aware that you
are
drinking coffee?”

He picked it up and shook the Grande cup side to side. “I’m due a refill.” He turned the cup up to his mouth, and I did
not
watch the strong muscles in his throat working as he finished what was surely cold by now. “Ready?”

I looked around for a moment, pondering, as if I wasn’t going to go with him. “I have to let Drew know. Then I’m ready.”

“Drew?”

“My partner,” I specified, winding down the passenger window and waving an arm briefly.

“Partner?” Was it just my imagination or did he look slightly disappointed?

“He owns half the business,” I specified. I didn’t care to examine why it was important that Mr. Unattainable was clear on the fact that Drew and I were platonic. “And he’s pulling up next to you, so unwind your window.”

Drew’s car pulled up next to Jordan’s car, and his window went down again. “Are you about finished?” he asked, ignoring my companion completely. Drew wasn’t exactly known for his people skills.

“Actually, I’m going to go have coffee with Mr. Channing, here.”

“Go?” Drew repeated it as if it was a dirty word. “You’re going to go with this man? In his car?”

“I think his flying carpet is in the shop,” I said, being an ass as usual. Jordan appreciated my humor, though, snorting lightly.

“Mac, a word?” Drew said, his eyebrows snapping together in a way that boded ill. He waved me over to his side of the car, his expression saying
don’t give me any crap
.

I got out and sidled over to his window.

“I’m cooking spaghetti tonight. Are you in?”

An unexpected opening that I took cautiously. Unexpected but pleasant. I’d expected him to blast me for potentially riding off with a perfect stranger. I shook my head with real regret. A couple of forkfuls of Drew’s delicious spaghetti with homemade sauce would go a long way toward redeeming this day. He’d learned how to cook in the military and rubbed it in my face when he didn’t invite me to dinner.

“I’m bushed. After this meeting, I’m probably just going to head home and gnaw on a Lean Cuisine or something.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, nodding. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, are you out of your fucking mind?”

Well, here we go, then. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, he says.” Oh, it was never good when Drew started repeating you and talking to himself. “You’re actually going to get in his car and let him drive you someplace? Why, because he’s a hot piece of ass? Has all that blond streaking finally seeped into your skull?”